Sometimes I feel like I’ve gone mental. The cards dealt, I don’t like. So now I go pencil. Write my own script and erase all the bullshit. No need to confess until my face hits the pulpit.
Improved since never. Improv on impossibility that somebody’s feeling me. It’s whatever. So I weather through the storm like the homeless, except I never had half your strength, dude. So now I want to thank you.
Show me what it is to hit rock bottom. So I could stop, get you cleaned up, and not follow… the masses in ignoring all you pain, all your struggle, all the rain that you huddled to avoid. Yet you muscle through the days…
…with no shoes on. No sandwiches handed it’s either you fight for it or starve through the night for it. Sorry if my glances offended all your pride. No disrespect, it’s just what I’m spoon-fed to decide.
But now I’m throwing out the words, so you don’t see me as them. A better day will come. Don’t ask about if, but when.